CHAPTER 39: CHAPTER 39

The next morning hen I woke up, the first thing I noticed was silence. Not the heavy, suffocating silence of danger lurking in the dark, but the kind that feels almost freeing. My eyelids fluttered open, weighed down with sleep, and I blinked against the faint morning light seeping in through the high windows of my room. The bed was cold beside me cold and Empty.

My breath hitched, and for a moment, I just lay there, stunned. Then, slowly, I sat up and looked around. No looming shadow in the corner. No strong presence filling the air like smoke, making my lungs ache. No piercing eyes watching me even in sleep. He was gone.

I don’t know how long I sat there, staring, afraid to believe it. But when the truth settled in, a burst of air left my chest, half a laugh, half a sob. My lips curved into a smile so wide it hurt.

"Yes!! He’s gone..." I whispered to myself, the sound shaky and disbelieving.The psycho Alpha was not here. Before I knew it, my legs had carried me off the bed. I nearly stumbled because they were trembling, but I didn’t care. I pressed my hands to my mouth, stifling the laugh that kept bubbling up. My chest felt light, lighter than it had in weeks. I spun once, a clumsy, almost childlike twirl across the room. It was ridiculous. I probably looked insane myself, celebrating over nothing. He could come back at any moment. Maybe he was just outside. But right now, for this one stolen breath of freedom, I didn’t care. I let myself bask in it. I ran to the little table against the wall, picked up the stale piece of bread I hadn’t touched last night, and bit into it with more joy than I thought possible. Food, silence, space three things I had been denied since he started hovering over me like a predator playing with prey.

"I’m free," I whispered again, a tremor of giddiness in my voice. "Even if it’s just for now."

I let myself laugh. Really laugh. The sound was strange, rusty from disuse, but it felt good. I clutched the bread and hugged it to my chest like it was some kind of treasure. My hair was a tangled mess, falling into my face, my eyes puffy from the restless nights of fear and tears, but I didn’t care. For the first time since yesterday I felt alive. That was when the knock came. My laughter froze. The bread dropped from my hand. The sound of the knock sharp, commanding ripped away the fragile illusion of safety I had just built for myself.

"Elie," a guard’s voice came from the other side of the door. "The Alpha requests your presence. Immediately."

My heart stopped. Then it plummeted. No, no, no. Not again. I stumbled back a step, shaking my head, as if I could undo the words just by denying them. My lips parted, but no sound came out. My throat was too dry. Of course. Of course he wasn’t gone. Why would he be? He was everywhere, always watching, always pulling me back when I thought I had even a sliver of freedom.

"Now, Ellie," the guard repeated, harder this time.

The room spun a little. My chest tightened until it hurt. Somehow, I found my legs again, forcing myself forward. My hands smoothed over my hair in vain, trying to tame the mess. But my fingers only got caught in the tangles. My swollen eyes stung when I rubbed at them, but it was useless. I looked like I had crawled out of a nightmare, because I had. Still, I went. I had no choice. The guards didn’t even look at me as they escorted me through the hallways. Their eyes stayed ahead, faces stone. To them, I was nothing but a fragile shadow at the mercy of their psycho Alpha. And if they as much as look at me more then require they know what will happen to them. My steps grew heavier the closer we got. My earlier joy curdled into dread until it sat like a stone in my stomach. By the time the massive doors of his office loomed before me, my chest was heaving with shallow breaths. The guard pushed the doors open. I stepped inside.The psych was standing beside a large, lined with shelves full of books that looked like they hadn’t been touched in years. A wide desk sat near the window, papers neatly stacked, a faint scent of ink lingering in the air. He was there. Sitting behind the desk like a king on a throne, posture relaxed, head slightly bowed as his eyes scanned a book in his hand. The sunlight caught on his hair, highlighting the sharp lines of his face. He didn’t look up when I entered. He turned a page, calm, detached, as though my presence was insignificant.

But I knew he was aware of me the second I walked in. My fingers twisted together, and I lowered my gaze, waiting, trembling.

His voice didn’t come. Instead, another sound filled the room low, dark, amused. It wasn’t out loud. It was inside, his poisonous inner voice that.

"Inner voice: Look at her. Hehehe . Dragging herself in here with that pathetic hair sticking up like a wild dog. Puffy little eyes. What a pitiful mess.

Heat crawled up my neck. I bit my lip, fighting the urge to speak, to defend myself, though I knew it would be useless. He always won. He always crushed me with nothing more than a thought.

He turned another page in the book, a soft flick that echoed in the heavy silence.

"Inner voice: She actually thought I was gone, didn’t she?

I froze. My chest constricted, my shame laid bare.

"Inner voice: Celebrating in her little cage, spinning around like some broken doll. Did she laugh? I bet she laughed. What a sight that must have been. Hilarious.

His shoulders shifted just slightly, and though his face remained stoic, I could hear it the laugh in his head, rich and cruel, echoing through me until I wanted to cover my ears, to shut him out.

"Inner voice: Foolish little omega. Did you really believe you’d ever be free of me?

I couldn’t breathe. The weight of his voice pressed against my chest, suffocating. My arms wrapped around myself, trying to hold my body together, but I knew he saw. He always saw.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he closed the book with a soft thud. The sound made me flinch. Slowly, deliberately, he set it on the desk and lifted his gaze to me.His eyes met mine.

"Sit," he said, his voice smooth, almost gentle.

But beneath it, the echo of his inner laughter still rang in my head. I sat in the chair across from his desk, trying my best to shrink into myself. Unfortunately, the chair was one of those oversized leather ones that seemed designed to make small people like me look even smaller. My feet dangled a few inches above the floor, which didn’t help. He sat there like a statue straight-backed, collected, eyes lowered on a book in his hand. If not for the suffocating aura rolling off him, I might have thought he was genuinely absorbed in whatever he was reading.

But I wasn’t that naïve anymore. I clasped my hands together tightly in my lap, trying to avoid eye contact. Maybe, if I stayed quiet and still enough, he would forget about me.

"Inner voice: Look at her, his inner voice slithered in, sharp with laughter. She looks like a drowned toad. Hair sticking up like she fought a thunderstorm and lost. And those eyes puffy, swollen. A ghost dragged straight out of its grave and dumped into my office. Pathetic.

Heat climbed up my face. Drowned toad? Ghost? My pride wanted to argue back, but my pride had been stepped on too many times to put up much of a fight.

Out loud, he said nothing, turning a page with infuriating calm.

"Inner voice: Does she think brushing her fingers through that tangled bird’s nest counts as grooming? Silly little toad. Perhaps I should have the maids bring her a comb. Or maybe a bucket of water. Yes, a ghost should at least look presentable before haunting my halls.

I bit the inside of my cheek, staring at my hands. The more he mocked me, the worse I felt and yet, some part of me wanted to laugh at the absurdity. A bucket of water? He really thought he was funny.

Finally, he shut the book with a quiet thud. The sound made me jump. Slowly, he set it aside and leaned his elbows on the desk, steepling his fingers.

"Tell me," he said smoothly, "did you sleep well?"

Wait, what? I froze. That was not the question I expected. "I I suppose..."

His eyes glinted with amusement.

"Inner voice: Suppose? She tossed, turned, whimpered like a puppy, and now she pretends she slept well? Silly toad. Does she not realize I hear every breath? And I slept in the bed with her.

I flinched at the voice in my head. Crazy bastard I murmured.

He arched a brow.

"You look as though you spent the night crying."

My lips trembled. "It—it won’t happen again."

He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head just slightly. His expression gave nothing away, but his inner voice betrayed him.

"Inner voice: It won’t happen again, she says. As if her puffy eyes aren’t a daily accessory. I should call them her crown jewels two swollen rubies sitting in a pale ghost’s face.

I wanted to groan. Rubies? Really? He could torment me without sounding like a failed poet, couldn’t he? And whose fault was it that my eyes were puffy?

He reached for the book again, flipping another page. Then he spoke casually, as though he weren’t unraveling me one thought at a time. "I heard laughter this morning."

My heart stopped.

"Inner voice: Oh yes. The little toad hopping about in her room, spinning like a broken doll, clutching stale bread as if it were a royal feast. I could have died from the comedy of it. A ghost, celebrating its freedom inside its own coffin.

I buried my burning face in my hands. Bread. Of all things, he had to notice the bread. He lowered the book again, setting it carefully on the desk.

"Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Yes Alpha," I whispered.

His lips quirked. Good."

"Inner voice: Honest, but still foolish. She thinks joy belongs to her? No. Laughter belongs to me. Happiness belongs to me. Even her tears are mine. Silly toad.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could vanish. Silence stretched. He seemed content to let me squirm while he studied me. Then he sighed, a soft sound that somehow managed to feel both amused and threatening.

"You should see yourself, Elie," he said. "You came running in here with hair like a bird’s nest and eyes like bruised plums. Did you intend to frighten my guards into thinking I had dragged a ghost out of the swamps?"

My mouth opened, then closed. Ghost. Swamps. Bird’s nest. This man had a whole arsenal of insults, and apparently, I was his favorite canvas.

I managed to stammer, "I—I didn’t have time—"

His brow arched higher.

"Inner voice: Excuses. Silly little toad croaking in defense. I should be generous and put her in a pond. At least then she’d be where she belongs.

Something inside me snapped just a little. It wasn’t anger, exactly more like the thin thread of my dignity trying desperately to knot itself back together.

"I-I-I wasn’t expecting to be summoned," I muttered under my breath.

The room went very quiet. His eyes sharpened. Then, surprisingly, he chuckled. The sound was low, dangerous, but undeniably amused.

"You weren’t expecting it?" he repeated. "You think I need an invitation to call for you?" What is your job? Or have you forgotten that you are my personal omega?"

I quickly shook my head, panic rising. "No-No Alpha. I’m sorry I have not forgotten.

"Inner voice: Of course not. Silly toad. Always trembling, always croaking, but never hopping far enough to escape. She knows she belongs here.

The laugh that followed echoed inside me, but this time, it almost sounded ridiculous. I pressed my lips together, trying not to smile at the thought. Which was insane, because nothing about this situation was funny. But the way he kept repeating "silly toad" in that deep, ominous voice If anyone overheard, they’d think he was naming pets instead of tormenting me.

He must have sensed the flicker of amusement in me, because his gaze sharpened again. "What are you smiling at?"

"I—I’m not smiling," I said quickly, smothering it.

He hummed, clearly unconvinced.

"Inner voice: Ghosts should not smile. They have no lips for it. And toads well, their smiles are just crooked grins in the mud.

The image popped into my head before I could stop it: me, crouched in the mud with a lopsided toad smile. And despite everything, I almost laughed. Almost. But I caught myself, forcing my expression back into a blank mask.

He studied me a moment longer, then leaned back, satisfied. "Remember, Elie," he said softly, "your place is not to celebrate when I’m gone. Your place is where I decide it to be. Always."

His inner voice sealed the words like a cruel echo: My toad. My ghost. Mine to mock, mine to break, mine to keep.

The words curled around me, heavy and suffocating, but the sting wasn’t as sharp as before. Maybe because, underneath it all, I could still hear the absurdity.

A silly toad. A ghost. Who knows what he will call me next.